


A Gap in the Schedule

by emrisemrisemris



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: M/M, armour definitely works like this, inadvisable crawlspace sex, it was Shepard's idea, post ME2 probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrisemrisemris/pseuds/emrisemrisemris
Summary: Garrus has known for some time that Shepard is happiest when somebody's trying to kill him - it's a character trait that becomes very obvious very quickly - but hasn't quite appreciated how this is liable to intersect with the man's sex drive until Shepard kisses him in the roof of Mhaireen Jecet's private hangar and says "I ever tell you how good you look like this?"





	A Gap in the Schedule

Garrus has known for some time that Shepard is happiest when somebody's trying to kill him - it's a character trait that becomes very obvious very quickly - but hasn't quite appreciated how this is liable to intersect with the man's sex drive until Shepard kisses him in the roof of Mhaireen Jecet's private hangar and says "I ever tell you how good you look like this?"

_Like this_ is disguised as a Blue Sun, in filthy armour that doesn't fit right, stretched uncomfortably out with his rifle digging into his back, in the crawlspace of a mob boss' ceiling, metres from discovery in an unfamiliar building with two hundred people who want the pair of them dead.

Shepard doesn't look half bad himself, for all that: the blue sets off his colouring, _his_ set of stolen armour actually fits, and there's something about the fake Suns tattoo on the side of his neck that makes Garrus want to run his tongue allll over it. But more than anything it's the eyes, and the demented sparkle they get when he's knee-deep in a certifiable clusterfuck and loving every second of it. It's like not even death has been able to shake that strangely youthful conviction that he's immortal. Shepard charges gaily forward into mess after mess after mess, some of them the kind that consume whole planets, and emerges from the other side glowing like he's just come back from a healthy jog.

Garrus has never, not ever, been able to resist those eyes.

He returns the kiss with a nuzzle, inhaling Shepard's scent and feeling the one-two pulse in the side of his neck. Tries to keep his voice down. "Really, Shepard? Now?"

"We're going to be here another two hours at least," Shepard says. They're close enough Garrus can feel his breath. "Even I can't keep you occupied that long." His wicked grin is barely visible in the half dark. "Though I'm willing to try."

"I mean, I know biotics train for stamina, but -"

Shepard kisses him again, both gauntleted hands cupping Garrus' chin as he plants his soft mouth against Garrus' scaly one, and then moves to lay hot, urgent kisses along the line of his jaw. He runs his tongue down the sensitive inward surface of a mandible, and _that_ is about as far as Garrus' self-control holds.

Thank heavens for armour-sets that disassemble into bits. Mix and match, build your own: a side effect of the customisation craze is that it comes off easy. Knowing Shepard, this means he's about to lose a glove or something into one of the grilles and blow both their covers, but Garrus is finding it rapidly harder to care.

Shepard's just about got the armour codpiece loose; Garrus runs his fingers over the exposed undersuit until he hears Shepard's breath catch, and only then hooks a claw into the seam.

Garrus has always been proud of having good claws, and keeps them sharp. He did offer to cut them, reluctantly, when they got together, and Shepard practically fell over himself saying _no, no, hell no, don't you dare._ But didn't it hurt? _Hey, I bet I can learn to like it._

Garrus runs a claw down over Shepard's belly, catching in the layer of soft fuzz, and all the way along the length of his half-hard cock. Shepard gasps. Garrus gauges the hungry look on his human's face, shifts his weight, and then - carefully, and maintaining eye contact - puts his other hand over Shepard's mouth.

Shepard's cock hardens perceptibly in Garrus' hand, the skin impossibly soft and delicate-feeling against his scales.

Garrus jerks him off quickly, roughly, the way he likes it, and is rewarded with muffled moans and Shepard thrusting eagerly into his grip. It doesn't take very long before Shepard is visibly on the edge, shivering when Garrus slows his rhythm, tensing abruptly when Garrus presses the tip of his thumbclaw just a little harder against the head of Shepard's cock.

Garrus scratches a bright line down Shepard's length, and Shepard comes, silently shuddering over his hand.

Well, it's not _their_ armour. Garrus wipes his fingers on Shepard's stolen undersuit with only a brief wince for its luckless owner, and says softly "Come here."

Shepard half turns over, and reaches for him.

It's ridiculous, really, this dark clumsy fumbling in a space less than ninety cents high, with both of them curled sideways like armoured, heat-packing crabs. Garrus considers the thought for a moment, then abandons it. Perhaps it's another side-effect of Shepard's apparently magical ability to make anything seem like a good idea.

Shepard has his gloves off now, and the crotch plate of Garrus' armour a moment later. His fingers are hot and dry as he opens the magnetic seam of Garrus' undersuit, and searches by touch for the narrow join in the scales beneath.

Garrus is already half open for him, because watching - feeling - Shepard helplessly aroused under his hands is too much, and Shepard's urgent, desperate touch is almost the final straw. He tries to make more room, to open his hips a little more in the cramped alley between support struts and aircon pipes, and reaches to mesh the fingers of one hand into Shepard's hair.

Shepard makes a small suppressed noise of submission and pleasure, and slides two fingers into Garrus' cloaca.

Garrus has to bite down on his fingers to hold back the gasp, and even then only swallows most of it; it turns into a soft hiss expelled through the gaps of his upper jaw. He can't see Shepard's face, not with the human's head practically squashed into his thigh, but he can _smell_ the grin spreading across it.

It's been forever since they did this. Usually Shepard likes to be the one getting fucked, arching his back against Garrus' weight, but he doesn't self-lubricate and neither of them thought to bring lube on a raid, funnily enough, and in any case there's no damn _room._ Garrus' cock is still sheathed secure behind the pelvic guard plate: there's not even enough space for him to open his legs fully, let alone get a proper external erection. On another day that might have been an issue, but right now Shepard's fingers are in him deep,and apparently he's wet enough for Shepard to adjust his wrist and slip in a third finger on the next thrust -

That's almost enough, Shepard's fingers stretching him and putting deep, delicious pressure against the base of his still-sheathed cock, and then Shepard shifts his head awkwardly and slips his tongue between the half-open plates as well.

Garrus comes hard, dizzyingly so, and strangely slowly, as if the cresting wave of it is somehow being funneled by the lack of space. Shepard's kissing him, fucking him, holding him close half a storey over the heads of any number of heavily armed enemies, and it feels _great._

Less mess this time, though Garrus is acutely aware he's going to need a shower sooner rather than later. He gets the undersuit closed back up more by luck than judgement, and snaps the covering armour plate back into place on the second try. Shepard has, inevitably, lost a glove, though the lack of shouting from below suggests it hasn't gone far. The crawlspace is heavy with the scent of Shepard's sweat and his own juices; close his eyes, and he could almost be on the _Normandy,_ with the fish-tank humming in the background.

"Better now?" Garrus enquires, when they've made it more or less back to decency.

"Ready for anything," Shepard says happily. Blue sparks fizz around his fingers as he stretches, one arm crossing Garrus' hips, the other bumping against some pipework in the darkness.

There is a clang somewhere off to his right, followed by another clang and a long, awkward silence, into which Garrus sighs.

"They're in the _ceiling!_ " comes the yell from below.

"Worth it," Shepard mouths.

He kicks out the nearest ventilation grille, drops a singularity nonchalantly through the gap, and jumps after it into combat as though there's nowhere else in the galaxy he'd rather be.

Lunatic.

_His_ lunatic, though.

Garrus smiles to himself, takes a better grip on the rifle slung over his back, and follows Shepard, yet again.


End file.
